The Russos 7 Read online

  Published by Mojocastle Press, LLC

  Price, Utah

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  The Russos: Episode Seven

  ISBN: 1-60180-040-1

  Copyright ã 2007 D. J. Manly

  Cover Art Copyright @ 2007 April Martinez

  All rights reserved.

  Excluding legitimate review sites and review publications, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Copying, scanning, uploading, selling and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission from the publisher is illegal, punishable by law and will be prosecuted.

  Available online at:

  http://www.mojocastle.com/

  Also By D.J. Manly:

  Connor’s Storm

  Melting Ice

  The Russos: Digital Soap

  Dedication:

  To my readers.

  The Russos: Episode Seven

  Previously on The Russos...

  Tony crawls into bed with Drake Senior. Angelo gets angry and slugs Tony. Janet is entrusted with a horrible secret.

  And Now...Episode Seven of The Russos

  New Year’s came and went without incident. Johnny conceded to Drake that he wasn’t yet well enough to perform, so he sat with Tony and Janet in the front row of the New Year’s Eve show while his brothers and Mac performed.

  Tony began attending high school in Los Angeles. His father registered him in a private school in Beverly Hills. Tony loved it, and immediately made friends. The teachers were great, and the facilities were top of the line. It was exciting.

  He tried not to think of the possibility of his mother showing up, but it was always in the back of his mind.

  His father seemed unhappy, and told Tony that he intended to move back into his own house at the end of the month.

  The Russo Brothers Band had a concert planned in New York City for the first of February. It was the concert that would launch a North American tour as well as Johnny’s comeback concert. It was already sold out.

  Janet and Mac planned to be married in July of that year. Drake had already agreed to be Mac’s best man. Tony had been asked to be an usher, along with his cousin—if, in fact, his cousin was around. There had been no word from Angelo.

  * * * * * *

  In just six weeks, the group Company Angelo, consisting of Drake Russo Junior, the drummer Mike Haskell and the bass guitar player, Sam Dunkin had performed in San Francisco and Santa Barbara. They were scheduled to do Ventura, Santa Monica, Inglewood, Long Beach and San Diego and then move on to Fresno, Nevada, Los Vegas and Arizona. Richard Killerman had them booked straight through to the summer.

  Angelo spent his nights performing, his afternoons practising and his mornings doing whatever else needed to be done. He got along great with Mike, but Sam Dunkin could be a royal pain in the ass. They got a good reception wherever they went, but the pay was crappy and the accommodations left a lot to be desired.

  Richard Killerman was a short, stocky little man of Irish descent. He had a mop of curly red hair and sharp green eyes. He was a nice guy when he was sober, in spite of the fact that he was a taskmaster, extremely homophobic and racist. He liked to drink and when he was drunk, he became Mr. Hyde. If he wasn’t such a good manager, Angelo would have fired him. He was often more trouble than he was worth.

  One night, Killerman started mouthing off in a gay bar they were playing in San Francisco about ‘Queens and fairies’, and he damn near got the crap beat out of him. Later, Killerman claimed he didn’t know it was a gay bar when he had made the arrangements. Angelo didn’t believe him. It was clear to the guys in the band that Richard Killerman was in the closet, and Angelo had no intention of opening the door.

  One night when they were sleeping in a trailer park in Santa Barbara, Killerman woke him out of a dead sleep. He smelt like a brewery and he was leaning over him, trying to kiss him. Angelo threw him outside and locked the door. Killerman was so drunk, he passed out against a tree.

  Problems with Killerman, however, seemed minor when compared to the problems he had with his guitarist Sam. Sam was okay as long as he was smoking a little weed, but he became impossible when he ran out and he did, often. He was also a status seeker. He was a great guitarist, but he wanted to be the centre of attention all the time and he liked to wrestle with Angelo for control over the band. Sam knew just how to piss him off, saying things like, “Just because you’re the little boy of the great and mighty rock star Drake Russo, you think you own the whole world!”

  Angelo came close to telling him to take a walk, but he needed him and Sam knew it. Mike didn’t like Sam either, and they both agreed that as soon as they could find another guitarist who could play as well as he did, they were going to get rid of him.

  One of his biggest struggles with Richard was over his name. Angelo wanted to use Smith, but Richard insisted on exploiting the fact that he was the son of Drake Russo.

  “It brings in the people, then they can judge for themselves,” Richard told him this night in Ventura.

  “But I don’t want to ride on my dad’s rep, I told you that, Richard. I’m doing this on my own.” Angelo shook his dark head as he read the poster on the outside of the Ventura Club: Rock tonight with Company Angelo, starring Drake Russo Junior, Mike Haskell and Sam Dunkin.

  “Angelo, let me manage this group, will ya?” Richard raised a reddish-blond eyebrow. “It’s your name, isn’t it?” he jibed, looking at the poster.

  “Yes,” Angelo sighed. “That’s my name.”

  “All right then. It’s you that has to go up there to play tonight, not your dad. It’s just to get them here so that they can hear you.”

  Angelo nodded. “Okay,” he replied with a sigh and walked into the empty club.

  Later that night after the second set, Richard came backstage, accompanied by a good-looking man in his middle thirties with short, dark curly hair and light blue eyes. He was carrying a camera. He had a dynamite body; the black leather pants he wore with the tight dark blue tank top did nothing to disguise the fact that the guy worked out on a regular basis.

  “Drake,” Richard said, “this is Matt Montega. He’s with The Beat. He’d like to take your picture and ask you guys a few questions.”

  Angelo knew the magazine. He smiled at the guy with surprise. “Why is The Beat interested in us?”

  The guy stepped forward and spoke with a charming British accent. “You’re Drake Russo’s son. We’d like to do a story on what you are doing in terms of following in your father’s footsteps, and—”

  Angelo’s smile faded. “I’m not interested.”

  Richard swore under his breath as Angelo walked away from the reporter.

  “Wait,” he told him and went after Angelo.

  “What in hell is wrong with you?” Killerman demanded. “Do you realize what kind of an opportunity this is?”

  “Ya, I do, and I know where it will lead. Someone will want to promote us just because Drake is my father.”

  “It’s going to happen sooner or later anyway. Drake, you’re good. You are a really good musician. You’re going to go places, not just because you are Drake Russo’s son, but because you have talent. Your father knows that. Why do you think he sent you out here? It’s hard to make it in this business, take the advantage you have and use it. This is what you want. One day you’ll come into your own in spite of your famous dad and his brothers. Trust me. Talk to the guy.”

  Angelo let his words sink in slowly. He sighed and then nodded. �
��Okay. I’ll do it.”

  Angelo walked back over to the reporter. “I finish after this set. We could go for a drink somewhere and talk.”

  Richard came and stood between them suddenly. “That’s fine,” he said. “Where shall we go?”

  Angelo placed his hands on Killerman’s shoulders and physically moved him aside. “It’s okay, Richard,” he met his eyes. “I’ll handle this.”

  Richard nodded and walked off.

  Matt watched him go. “Wow, is he your...?”

  “No.” Angelo laughed. “Do you want Mike and Sam to join us?”

  Matt met his eyes. “No. I mean...I do want to talk to them, but let’s just start with you.” He looked him over. “I’d like to take my time getting to know you.”

  Angelo smiled. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to read this guy’s mind. Oh, well, might be time for a little R and R.

  “I’m sticking around,” Matt told him. “The music is good and the view from my table is outstanding,” he said, keeping his eyes on Angelo.

  Angelo laughed softly. “Good...well...I got to go back out there now. Enjoy the music and...eh...the view and...” he laughed, “we’ll go off somewhere quiet later and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  “Everything?” he asked softly.

  Angelo gave him a boyish grin. “Well...” he cleared his throat, “we’ll see.”

  Matt laughed softly and walked back to his table.

  Mike came up beside him now, telling him it was time to go back onstage and whispering something he didn’t catch in his ear.

  “What?” Angelo asked him, laughing.

  “I said...” Mike grinned, “he’s hot for you.”

  “How would you know?” Angelo punched him playfully in the arm. “You’re as straight as an arrow.”

  “Lust is lust, baby, no matter which way you slice it,” Mike returned comically.

  “Ya...well...write it down, make a song out of it!” Angelo suggested.

  Sam came to join them. He had been smoking a little pot and was in a good mood. They began their set, laughing. The good feelings were infectious, and the crowd was soon dancing and singing and up on the tables.

  After the set was over, Mona Delise, who owned the Thunder Hall bar, came up to speak with Richard Killerman, who had already drained half a bottle of Irish whiskey.

  They were deep in discussion when Angelo came over to the table. Mona Delise turned to Angelo and slapped him on the arm. “I want you guys for another month. I’ll pay triple scale and throw in the rooms upstairs.”

  Richard looked at Angelo. Sam and Mike came over to join them.

  Angelo turned to his band members. “What do you say to staying here for the next month at triple scale?” Angelo knew they’d go for it. It was better to stay in one place for a while.

  Richard was saying that he would have to juggle some things, cancel some bookings. Sam and Mike were enthusiastically urging Angelo to say yes.

  He did. Mona Delise grabbed him and kissed him. She was a big woman, and practically knocked him off his feet. He laughed and then looked around at Matt, who stood patiently waiting for him.

  He held up his finger, indicating he’d be just a minute. “Mike, can you take care of my guitar, take it upstairs and—”

  “Don’t worry,” Mike waved him away and then pushed him toward Matt. “Go, have fun. See ya tomorrow.”

  Richard reached out suddenly and placed a hand on Angelo’s arm. “Are you sure you don’t want me to...”

  “Listen, Richard,” Angelo sighed. “Stop this. I’m not your property or your child. There is nothing between you and me and there will never be. Stop acting like the jealous boyfriend!”

  Richards face was red. “What do you think...that I’m some kind of a...fag? Are you implying that, Angelo?” Mike went to place a hand on Richard’s shoulder, but he shoved it off. “I’m not a faggot! I’m not a—”

  Angelo glanced over at Matt, giving him an apologetic look.

  Sam rolled his eyes at Mike and shook his shaggy brown head. “Mellow out, man. Don’t worry about it. We’re not hung up on that. Who you ride is who you ride.” He looked over at Angelo. “Go on, man. We’ll take care of Richard.”

  Angelo walked toward Matt and then suddenly Richard was at his heels. Angelo turned around with a sigh as Richard said, “You need me, kid, you need me to help—”

  Sam and Mike came over and took Richard’s arms. They sat him down at the table as Angelo and Matt left. Out in the alley, they could still hear him yell, “I’m not a fag!”

  Angelo felt embarrassed more than anything and he told Matt again that he was sorry.

  Matt waved it away. “I feel sorry for the guy. He’s in the closet, and he’s very attracted to you.”

  Angelo said nothing, so Matt changed the subject by pointing out his car.

  Matt drove an old yellow Volkswagen beetle, and he laughed as he watched Angelo sit in the front seat, his knees practically up to his chin.

  “This is definitely not the car for you!” he drawled and then collapsed into laughter again.

  Angelo made a face at him. “Okay...okay...” He laughed. “I feel like the little boy who was held back in school by about five years and is made to sit in one of those little desks.”

  Matt started the engine and then looked at him. “You don’t look like the little boy who failed.”

  Angelo was about to respond, but he didn’t get the chance. Matt leaned over and kissed him. When he backed away, he looked flustered. “I’m sorry. I...maybe I shouldn’t have done that. I just felt compelled to.”

  “Do you feel compelled to do it again?” Angelo asked him.

  Matt smiled, then nodded. “I feel compelled to do much more,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss him again.

  “Well, you really could take advantage of my position, because I have no room to fight you off,” Angelo managed, moving his shoulders into a more comfortable position.

  Matt laughed. “You’re right. It’s my ploy to lure gorgeous young men who are over six feet tall into my tiny little car and then take advantage of them.”

  “It’s a good ploy,” Angelo replied.

  Matt grinned. “So, where to?”

  “You’re the driver,” Angelo said softly.

  “I think I have orange juice in the fridge at my place,” Matt met his eyes.

  “Water will be fine,” Angelo told him. “I have different criteria, depending on the host.”

  Matt smiled.

  “But I hope it’s not far, because you may have to get the Jaws of Life to pry me out of here,” Angelo added. “And I may not be much use to you once you do get me out.”

  Matt laughed again. “Then I must hurry,” he whispered suggestively and drove out of the alley.

  * * * * * *

  Janet was sitting at the kitchen table drinking her second cup of coffee when the cab pulled up outside. She had been casually thumbing through the latest issue of a bridal magazine when she heard the car door slam.

  She got up with her half-empty cup and pulled her housecoat around her. It was nine in the morning. She knew it wasn’t Mac, because the band was in Detroit this week. She was flying out tomorrow to catch their concert Saturday night.

  She walked over to the window with a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t a new sensation. Her stomach had been acting up for days. Tony had been staying with her while his father was away on tour, and she had tried not to transfer these feelings onto him.

  She pulled back the curtain, practically holding her breath. There she was. Sandy was standing on the sidewalk, holding her suitcase.

  It had started to rain, but Sandra didn’t seem to notice and if she did, she didn’t seem anxious for cover. It seemed they had gotten a lot more rain than was usual for L.A. in the last few weeks.

  Janet drained her cup and set it down in the sink. She took her time running hot water in it. After a minute or two she went to the front door, anticipating th
at the doorbell would ring any second. She was preparing for it, preparing for that shrill, urgent ring that would bring her face to face with her best friend that she hadn’t seen in seventeen years. The doorbell remained silent.

  Janet opened the door.

  She was still standing there, the suitcase clutched in her hands. It was still raining. Water was running down her face. She couldn’t just leave her standing out there.

  “Sandy,” she called, opening the door a little wider and placing one foot out onto the doorstep.

  Sandy took a breath, unprepared for what seeing her for the first time in all these years would feel like. They had been close once, but the Russo family had destroyed that closeness; Janet had thrown her allegiance to them rather than to her. She would never forgive her for that.

  Sandy walked up the cobblestone walkway and stopped at the door. “I thought it was about time I came to see you,” she announced. She smiled with trembling lips.

  Tears ran down Janet’s face. She couldn’t stop. She opened her arms and enveloped Sandy in a hug, then pulled her into the hallway. After Sandy put down her suitcase and dried off some, Janet took her into the kitchen.

  It was strained for the first little while. Neither one of them knew what to talk about. Sandy remarked on what a lovely house she had, and Janet thanked her. They avoided the topic of the Russo family altogether. Sandy didn’t even ask how Johnny was doing, and Janet didn’t volunteer any information either. Janet didn’t even want to bring up Tony’s name. Instead, Sandy commented on how foggy L.A. was and what a large house she lived in. They talked about when they were kids growing up in New York and some mutual friends they knew from high school. They had a conversation of “Have you heard from...” and “Did you know that’s...”

  Janet made coffee. They drank it, discussed the coffee brand and its aroma. When that was exhausted, Janet gave Sandy a tour of the house. Finally, they sat in the kitchen again and had another cup of coffee.